


one, two, three

by adelaidebabe (soulless_slut)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst, I guess???, Injury, M/M, Meet-Cute, do i hate myself?, i'll let u kno, verdict's still out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_slut/pseuds/adelaidebabe
Summary: Shane's a dancer with a dance competition the next day. Ryan's still a ghost hunter. The theater may or may not be haunted. (It's not.)





	one, two, three

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd & what the hell are tags even.
> 
> *taylor swift's "look what you made me do" plays in the distance*

For his entire life, Shane has determinedly not taken the easy road. He likes things to be difficult and a challenge because then he feels like he’s earned something. If it feels like it’s just been handed to him, it feels like a trap, like it’s something he can’t trust. So he works and he works, and he pushes himself so that whatever he gets doesn’t feel like a handout.

Even if it’s actually detrimental.

With tomorrow being the finals, and his performance, Shane should be sleeping. But he’s not; instead, it’s almost one in the morning and he’s still working on the same damn spin, trying to just land it correctly, just once.

He does it again. His leg still quivers and his knee twinges, causing him to lower out of the position onto his ass. For a moment, Shane just lets himself sit there, on the stage, legs stretched out in front of him. The ache in his knee has turned into a dull throb, and he’s almost worried about what that means for tomorrow. He’s practiced too fucking much just to literally collapse during the finals. It’s the furthest he’s gotten and there’s no way he’s going to let it slip away from him. No. Way.

Shane sighs. He stands back up, flexing his knee, and hopes.

He does the spin again. This time, he doesn’t even land; he misses it completely and barely catches himself with his arms before his face collides with the stage. “Dammit,” he shouts, face inches away from the stage, using one of his hands to slam down as if to make a point. He’s pissed. He’s so pissed. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop being pissed.

It’s as he’s pushing himself back up that a voice from the wings reaches him. “Uh, hello?” the voice says. “Please tell me that you’re a real, live person and not, uh, not a ghost.”

Shane brushes his hands together before adjusting the sweatpants on his hips. He takes a minute to respond because the question is just so weird. Eventually, without turning to the direction of the voice, he calls back, “Yeah, definitely not a ghost, dude.”

He can hear footsteps. “Are you sure?” the voice asks. “Because ghosts don’t know that they’re ghosts, and so you could be a ghost who just doesn’t know.”

Completely taken aback—because seriously, what the fuck—Shane slowly turns, ignoring the weight he puts on his knee. He knows he has to look pissed off or annoyed or _something_ , because honestly he is, but the person approaching doesn’t seem to notice. Or care, maybe.

And as he gets closer, Shane can see the handheld camera currently aimed at him, the red light telling him that it’s on and recording.

Shane turns his head. “Can you not do that?” he asks, only looking over through his peripherals. The guy looks confused for a second before understanding washes over his face and he presses some button that makes an almost obnoxious _beep_ before he closes it. It stays in his hand by his side, but Shane figures that that’s good enough, turning his face back to the other. “Thanks,” he says. He points to himself. “Still not a ghost, though.”

The guy looks contemplative, almost scrutinizing Shane with a look he doesn’t like. “Then what are you doing here?” he asks.

To be frank, Shane doesn’t really want to answer him. “I could ask you that.”

The hand holding the camera gives a little shake. The kicker, though, is when he says, “Looking for evidence of ghosts,” as if it’s obvious.

Shane has never heard anything so ridiculous. And it’s so difficult, trying to not outright laugh. “Right,” he says. “That what everyone does at one in the morning in a theater. They look for ghosts.”

The guys shrugs and doesn’t really seem to get that Shane’s being sarcastic. He looks around as he talks. “This is one of the most haunted theaters on the west coast. I wanted to check it out.”

Oh dear God. Shane knows where this is going. Oh God, no. “So you’re a ghost hunter?”

In endearing fashion, something Shane can’t believe he just thought, the other guy almost brightens, looking excited. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, that’s what I am. I’ve never called myself that before,” he adds, and it must be because of whatever expression Shane has on his face.

Shock? Probably. Repulsion? The stars are in favor. Confusion? Without a doubt.

Shane presses his lips together. “Alright then….” He trails off, realizing that as stimulating as this conversation has been, they haven’t actually introduced themselves.

“Ryan Bergara,” the guy says.

Shane inclines his head slightly. “Well, Ryan Bergara, I’ve been here all night and I haven’t seen any evidence of ghosts. You can end your night early.” He wants to get back to practicing, _needs_ to get back to practicing, but he can't do it if someone else is here. So the obvious solution is for Ryan to leave.

But Ryan doesn’t move, and instead the two of them just end up standing there, almost staring at each other.

“What are you doing?” Ryan eventually asks.

Shane’s mouth opens, and then he sighs. “I was practicing, but then someone thought I was a ghost.”

“I’m still not convinced you’re not,” Ryan points out, and Shane has to fight a grin.

So endearing.

“So,” Ryan says with enough pause that Shane knows means he’s supposed to now supply his name.

“Shane.”

“So, Shane, when you say practicing, what do you mean?”

Shane fights a sigh. He gets it. Ghost hunters—ugh—must have a natural curiosity or something, but he’s not really in the mood to talk about something that’s hanging over him and has been ever since his knee injury. It’s against all odds that he’s even here, it really is, and he can feel it slipping away every time his knee throbs. But the look Ryan’s giving him is open, and maybe even a little freaked from ghost hunting, and Shane caves. “There’s a dance competition tomorrow,” he says. “It’s the finals, I’m in it, and I can’t fuck it up.”

There’s a pause. “Why aren’t you sleeping imstead?”

“Because I can’t fuck it up,” Shane reiterates. He rubs at the corners of his eyes; his contacts are beginning to bother him. Ryan doesn’t say anything, and Shane knows he’s waiting for more of an explanation. “There’s certain things I can’t get right in the routine. Things that I need to get right.”

Now Ryan’s hands are absentmindedly fiddling with his camera, but the light stays off. “Can you show me the routine? Get a second opinion?” he says.

“It’s a, uh, partner dance,” Shane says, and why does he feel like his face is starting to flush? “So I can’t, and I’m pretty sure my partner would be pissed at me if I showed someone exactly what it is we’re bringing to finals tomorrow.”

“Even if it’s just a lowly ghost hunter?”

“Especially then,” Shane says, and Ryan laughs. It’s loud and exuberant, and something in Shane enjoys it. He smiles, but then tries to push it down before Ryan looks at him again. “In all seriousness,” he starts, “I really do need to practice. So.”

“And I need to look for ghosts,” Ryan says. “So it looks like we’re just going to have to coexist.”

It’s not funny. It really isn’t. But, for some reason, Shane can’t stop from smiling, from letting out a soft little laugh. It must be because of the audacity, right? “Buddy,” Shane says. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Says someone who’s never seen one.”

“Yeah, because they aren’t real.”

But Ryan clicks his tongue, looking eternally patient, and it makes Shane want to laugh again. “I’m just going to have to prove it to you. So I’ll stay and keep looking for ghosts. You can also stay and work yourself to exhaustion so you can’t perform tomorrow. And then when I’m right, you’ll see.”

Who _is_ this guy?

Against his better judgements, mostly because of the camera still in Ryan’s hand, Shane agrees. “But if you film me, you won’t have to worry about finding ghosts because you’ll be one.”

Ryan only laughs, and his camera makes another obnoxious _beep_ as he turns it back on.

It takes a few minutes for Shane to pretend that Ryan isn’t on stage with him. He’ll get ready to start over, and then Ryan will whisper something to his camera and Shane will lose focus. It’s hard, doing something that’s usually in private with someone else around. Someone that isn’t his dance partner. He doesn’t work on the spin because he doesn’t need to embarrass himself in front of a cute guy. In front of Ryan. Who is a cute guy.

Jesus.

So he practices other stuff; first the waltz because that’s mostly just foot movement. He tries not to think about how stupid he’s gotta look, doing a partner dance without a partner and without music. He’s counting in his head, hearing the music as best he can, when Ryan finally interrupts. Shane knew it was coming.

“Why aren’t you practicing with your partner?” he asks. “If it’s a partner dance.”

Shane doesn’t stop moving, trying to ignore any feelings of embarrassment or anxiety as he tries to keep his focus and answer Ryan. “She wanted to sleep.”

Ryan makes a disbelieving noise. “That’s it?”

Shane tilts his head a little, still focusing on what his feet are doing. “And she’s my ex. As much as she wants to win, she also doesn’t really want to spend more time with me in close settings.”

“Doesn’t make much sense,” Ryan says. “If she doesn’t want to be near you, why would she be your partner?”

Shane sighs and gives up on the dance. He rubs his eyes again and faces Ryan. “Because we’ve been partners for years. We were in this competition before we broke up.” And before he fucked up his knee. “Things just happened to end right before finals.”

Ryan nods. “What about your knee?”

Shane hesitates, hating that apparently it was obvious that Ryan could see it. “I thought you were looking for the existence of ghosts.”

He shrugs. “I think you scared them off. And you’re kind of distracting,” he admits. He walks back over to Shane, but keeps his distance just enough. “What’d you do to your knee?”

This really isn’t a conversation Shane thought he’d be having with someone he just met. A stranger. He’s already been around Ryan longer than he thought he would, especially now that it has to be close to two and normal, sane people would be asleep. Like Rose. She’s normal, she’s sane, she’s asleep.

Honestly, Shane would be too if it weren’t for his fucking knee.

He must be silent for too long because Ryan says, “You know, if you don’t actually want to talk about it, you can ignore me. I’m just being nosy. I mean, if you are a ghost, I gotta learn your history and stuff.”

“I already told you I’m not a ghost.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Shane laughs. He doesn’t know what it is about him, but there’s something almost compelling about Ryan, something that stops Shane from just leaving or asking Ryan to. Something that keeps him here, willing to talk to a complete stranger.

Ryan’s still looking at him.

Shane sighs. “It was after semi-finals—”

“Which was?”

He thinks about it. “Three days ago.”

Ryan gapes at him. Shane understands the feeling. He thinks if he weren’t himself, if he hadn’t gone through everything to get here, he’d think he was crazy. Maybe he kind of is. His knee is fucked up, getting worse everyday, and even though the logical thing to do would be to concede the competition, he can’t. For Rose’s sake. For his own.

So he nods and maybe winces a little. “I know,” Shane says. “But tomorrow’s finals, and then I’m done.”

“Dude, it wouldn’t have mattered if finals were the day right after. You can’t keep putting stress on your knee like that.” Ryan takes a step closer, and Shane’s not really sure why.

“I didn’t tell you so you’d lecture me, you know.”

Ryan holds his hands up in an almost placating manner.

It’s endearing.

Why is everything about him so damn endearing?

It makes Shane want to smile again. He fights it.

He clears his throat. “Long story short, I fell down a flight of stairs and landed incorrectly on my knee.”

“And the long story?”

Shane thinks he’s flushing again. “It’s stupid. It’s…well, it’s embarrassing.”

Ryan grins. “Well, now, this just interesting. What’d you do?”

Shane shakes his head. “That’s a secret for another time,” he says, without totally paying attention to what he’s saying.

Ryan’s smile turns soft, almost shy. “Another time?”

Shane forces a laugh, trying to ignore everything he’s feeling at the moment. No matter what he does, he can’t help but feel like every word out of his mouth, every action he does, is just fueling the Shame “Embarrassment” Madej fire. He checks the watch on his wrist, if only to give himself a reason to look away from Ryan. “For how long you’ve stuck around, it seems stupid to not see each other again.” He fights the urge to bite his tongue.

He doesn’t know anything about Ryan; he doesn’t know if he’s straight or gay or bi or aro or ace. He hates being forward, but it’s past two in the morning, Ryan’s been hanging out for more than an hour, and Shane needs to know what’s going on. If the guy is just trying to make a friend or just trying to distract himself from his fear of ghosts; or if he feels the same way toward Shane that Shane feels toward him. The compelling bit.

Ryan’s still smiling; Shane takes it as a good sign. “You live around here?” he asks.

It throws Shane a little. “No, back in L.A..”

If it’s possible, Ryan’s smile grows. “Dude,” he says. “Me too.” He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Shane does and then watches as Ryan types. It feels almost too weird, flirting with someone in an apparently haunted theater late at night. Ryan’s phone in his pocket makes a chime noise as he hands Shane’s phone back to him. “So another time, then?”

Shane nods.

As Ryan’s walking away, Shane fights with himself. He doesn’t want to, but he does, but he doesn’t, but— “Hey, Bergara,” he calls. Ryan, in the wings, turns back around. “You still want me to show you that partner dance?”

Ryan nods. “Definitely.”

As he’s walking back, Shane motions for him to set down his camera, which he does. Then Shane holds out his hands and grabs Ryan’s, putting them in their proper places. He can feel Ryan’s hesitance through his hands. “Just trust me,” Shane murmurs. “I’m cutting out all the complicated stuff. Follow me.”

And they start. Ryan missteps a lot, and even lands on Shane toes a couple times, but he actually doesn’t mind. It’s _fun_. Something dancing hasn’t been for him in a while. Ryan keeps making him laugh as they spin, and vice versa.

At one point, Ryan asks, “How did you get into dancing?”

Shane chuckles, almost wry. “The ex, actually. I wanted to impress her, she was into dance. So I stopped skating—”

“Skating?”

Now Shane knows he’s full on blushing. Which is stupid, it’s so stupid, forced gender roles are completely idiotic; he knows that, but that doesn’t mean, though, that he doesn’t still feel hesitant to talk about when he was a figure skater.

A really _good_ figure skater.

“I, uh, I ice skated all through high school and a little into college.” He clears his throat. “So everything I did out there just transferred over to doing on dry land. It was a little hard to get used to, but I like to think I’m good at it.”

“Good enough to make finals,” Ryan points out, and Shane is so, so thankful there hadn’t been some snide comment about the ice skating.

“Good enough to make finals,” Shane agrees. “But probably not good enough to win them.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t not-know it, either.” He weighs a little too heavily down on his knee and flinches, messing up the timing. It was as if to make a point.

They stop spinning, instead just choosing to stand there as Shane tries to not put any weight back on it. “See?” he says in a half-assed joke.

But Ryan doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t comment on it. “You should really get off that,” he says. “Put some ice on it, elevate it. Definitely not keep practicing.”

Shane sighs. “If I stop, I won’t get it right tomorrow.”

“If you keep going, you’re going to tear something and have to concede.”

The thought scares him, even if he won't admit it. It’s then that he realizes how close he and Ryan are, how they’re still holding each other despite no longer waltzing.

Ryan seems to notice it, too, and slowly relinquishes his hold on Shane. “I’m gonna turn in,” Ryan says, jerking a thumb behind him in the direction of the wings. “I really think you should, too.”

Shane just nods but doesn’t say anything, and watches as Ryan leaves. He thinks about it as he stands there. His knee is throbbing something fierce, ebbing and flowing in a torturous wave of pain. He doesn’t want to admit that Ryan’s right, but there’s a chance that he is, that Shane will never perfect the move tonight and instead just worsen his chances more than they already are.

Deciding, he grabs his stuff from the floor of the stage and makes his way back to his hotel. On the ride up in the elevator, his phone buzzes with a text from Ryan.

I don’t want to see my new favorite dancer collapse tomorrow, I put a lot of money on you [from dude who stalks haunted theaters; 2:37 am]

That’s a bullshit lie I’m calling you on [to dude who stalks haunted theaters; 2:38 am]

You didn’t even know about it until I told you [to dude who stalks haunted theaters; 2:38 am]

And I’m changing your name [to dude who stalks haunted theaters; 2:38 am]

Ryan doesn’t respond until Shane’s unlocked his hotel door. He ignores it in favor of getting some water, and then puts some ice in a zip bag to put on his knee. He shakes out two anti inflammatories and hopes that they help as he swallows them down.

Ignoring the urge to text back, Shane plugs in his phone, sets his alarm, and goes to bed.

His knee is absolutely killing him in the morning, so he takes more medication and prays to whoever may be listening that he can get through everything without severe damage mid-performance.

Rose is, well, not completely cold to him when he meets up with her, but she’s definitely not not cold.

“How’s your knee?” she asks, but Shane knows she really wants to know if he’s going to screw it up.

“Feels perfect,” he lies, and then they move on.

They go on second, which is both a blessing and a curse. Their contemporary is first, which is definitely just a curse because that’s the dance with the spin; if he causes irrevocable damage now, he’ll never be able to do the waltz after. Game over. Do not pass go. Do not collect ten thousand dollars.

Leading up to the dreaded spin, Shane feels almost fine. If he doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t notice it, and it’s almost like he never hurt himself to begin with.

When they’re like this, Shane almost forgets that they’re not together anymore. There’s no hostility radiating off of Rose, no choppy movements or awkwardness. Just two people completely in sync from years of history, doing something that brought them together to begin with.

It makes Shane relax.

He doesn’t notice when he goes on autopilot and aces the spin without even thinking about it.

From there, everything else is cake, the adrenaline and excitement completely blocking out the pain.

When the waltz is almost done, he glances out into the audience and his eyes almost instantly find Ryan. He’s feels another flush beginning and hopes that it can be excused away by everything else.

Winning feels not exactly anticlimactic, but not very climactic, either. He knew that if his knee didn’t give out that they’d win. And it’s exciting. But he also knows that it’s the end, that he’ll probably never do any of this again, that Rose won’t speak to him after all this and they’ll never dance together again. It sucks because after all of their years together, they’re just so instantly responsive to the other, making everything they do fluid.

It sucks because Shane’s spent most of his adult life dancing and he doesn’t know what else to do. It sucks because he thinks there’s a chance he’s done enough damage to his knee that he’ll never be able to move like before. Never be able to really dance or even skate.

He’s not even a good choreographer so there’s not really anything to fall back on.

Somehow, Ryan finds him as he’s nursing a beer that night in some bar by the theater that he doesn’t even know the name of. Not pulling any punches, Ryan asks, “So now what are you doing to do?”

Shane’s laugh is dry and it hurts. “I don’t have the any idea, man.” He takes a sip and tries to ignore the proximity of the other guy.

Ryan hesitates. “This is the weirdest thing to ask someone, I know, but what if you join me? Until you figure it out.”

“Join you ghost hunting?”

When Shane looks at Ryan, there’s a small blush high on his cheeks. “It’s not a paid thing, yeah, but I’m trying to work with YouTube to turn it into a thing. And your skepticism could help sell it, make things more interesting than me just screaming every five seconds.”

Shane laughs.

“And it’s not all I do so it’s not like we’d just be twenty-four-seven ghost hunting. I still have a day job. I just figured I’d, I don’t know, offer you a new hobby.”

Ghost hunting as a hobby. Something Shane never thought he’d entertain the idea of, least of all actually do it.

“Fine,” Shane agrees.

“Really?”

He nods and finishes the rest of his beer. “I have to admit, though, the biggest draw is being able to have an excuse to hang out with you.” He fights the blush, loses, and then pretends it’s not there.

Ryan smiles. “That’s my motivation for asking you,” he says. And then suddenly he’s a lot closer than he was before, their faces close enough to share breath.

Ryan seems to lose any of the confidence he had before, so Shane’s the one who pushes closer, closing the distance.

His heart feels light. Soaringly light. Getting here with Ryan is the easiest thing Shane has even done, and if he believed in signs he’d think this is one. There weren’t any misunderstandings, there weren’t any dramatic conversations in the rain, there weren’t any complications. It just happened. As easy as could be.

Shane pulls back from the kiss and threads his and Ryan’s fingers together. From the look on Ryan’s face, Shane thinks he might thinking the same thing.

For once, Shane accepts the easy road.

**Author's Note:**

> i kind of started to hate it as i got closer to the end but c'est la vie.
> 
> on tumblr @ [bergarasmadej](https://bergarasmadej.tumblr.com) (it's a sideblog)


End file.
